Evol
by Sketched Ink
Summary: Bruce's throat closed up, this had been a bad idea. What had he been thinking. "Uh, I was looking for you, actually", he coughed, and the clown sucked his lower lip in and out of his mouth thoughtfully, "And why would you want to do that?". EVENTUAL SLASH, Slow-burn, Jerome/Bruce, angst then fluff.
1. Chapter 1

The circus was alive and breathing as the clocks in Gotham City struck nine. The late hour didn't stop the bustling crowd gazing up in awe at the stalls around them, however, and the circus strip was more crowded than Time Square on a Saturday.

Hundreds of stands advertising every type of fast food available flashed and swirled in bright colours above their heads, and the smooth smell of sweet popcorn hung low in the air. Performers patrolled the crowds, beautiful women and clowns on stilts who called for attention and pointing all ticket holders towards the glowing big top in the centre of the mass.

Bruce Wayne was enthralled.

A giggling clown leant down to place a flyer in Bruce's hand as it unicycled past, and it pulled a face for the boy's amusement whilst it careered backwards into the throng. The young billionaire smiled, and glanced down at his wrist.

"Alfred", Bruce called out. The man in question turned to face him,

"Yes Master Bruce?". Bruce pointed to his watch, "We need to head over to the big top now, or we'll risk missing the performance", Alfred glanced down at his own watch, "Right then, Master Bruce, we'll head over immediately. Do you want snacks before we go in?". Bruce shook his head, peering down at the flyer, "Thank you Alfred, but I'm alright". Displayed in large gaudy letters across the top of the flyer were the words, "HALEY'S CIRCUS", and beneath a list of the performers.

Bruce walked along behind his butler, absorbed in reading the flyer. Head down, he walked straight into the solid chest of someone else. He was immediately hit with the unexpected, sweet smell of peppermint, "Oh, uh, excuse me", he stuttered, "I wasn't looking where I was going".

Bruce raised his head, intent on a proper apology. The man was wearing a clown mask that covered the upper half of his face, but the rest of his clothes were relatively normal; a purple shirt, black blazer and brown suit trousers. Cold, uninterested eyes stared down from the darkness behind the mask, and Bruce swallowed. They were the most vivid green he had ever seen. The clown just looked down at him for a moment, saying nothing, before walking in the direction he'd originally been going in. Bruce stared after his retreating back for a moment, before running to catch Alfred up.

The big top was packed. Bruce and Alfred had managed to steal seats near the front directly opposite the curtains, but the noise and smells all contained in the tent were almost overwhelming. When the lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed, a spotlight beamed down on a short, stout man standing in the centre of the ring. Bruce peered curiously over the heads of the people in front as he started to speak,

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to Haley's Circus!".

The ring master's voice filled the tent and sent an expectant thrum across the audience, "I must warn you now, these acts are neither safe nor fake, and anything you see in this establishment must not be repeated by anyone except trained professionals".

The ringmaster's voice quietened slightly, and the crowd leant in to catch his next words, "The performers you see today will be participating in extremely dangerous activities", he paused and looked up from under the brim of his hat, "Where even the slightest drop in concentration could lead to death. So we ask you not to cheer or clap during any acts unless directed to by the performer".

A slow, deep drum beat started off from behind the curtain, and all eyes were glued to the man onstage as the beat started to speed up. "Enough said, that aside, I hope you are all settled down and ready for the show! First up, we have a real treat for the citizens of Gotham City tonight, the incredible Antonio, our world-famous strongman is available to perform for the first time in Gotham for half a decade! Please, show some support for _Antonio_!".

The spotlight dropped, and the circus was plunged into darkness once more, before a bare-chested, muscular man with a curling moustache strode through the curtain, flexing his biceps to the delight of the crowd. Bruce settled down to watch, enjoying the comedy of the strongman, but with his mind on his training sessions tomorrow morning.

Most of the acts passed in a blur of bright lights and the cheers of the crowd, and Bruce was just relaxing into the atmosphere, when a tall man in a clown mask and a purple shirt walked on stage with a wicker basket under each arm. The crowd murmured in confusion (the leaflet advertised that it would be the circus Elephant act next), as clearly, something had changed.

The ringleader stepped on stage to introduce the act, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm afraid the Elephants have had to be delayed until the next act, as we have a very special treat for you all now". He placed a hand on the shoulder of the masked man, "This specific act isn't even on the itinerary, as we weren't expecting it to be ready for tonight, but luckily for you, it was perfected in time". The two men onstage exchanged a few quiet words before the ringleader nodded, and turned back to the crowd, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our newest act, the Valeska snake dancers!".

The curtain opened again, and a beautiful, slim lady walked through, dressed in layered purple silk, and laced in tiny golden bells. She was carrying a golden flute, and she walked right to the edge of the ring, before placing the instrument to her lips, and pulling from it a long haunting note that quickly developed into a complex melody.

One of the wicker baskets rocked on stage for a moment, before the lid slowly lifted, and a diamond head peered up from the darkness. The crowd muttered uncomfortably as a python began to uncoil from inside the basket. It was ridiculously long, and it was almost a magic trick in itself when the whole of the reptile was out of its confines. A black tongue flickered in the air, as equally black eyes searched the crowd. Bruce shivered as its eyes passed over him, and a nervous titter passed through the crowd as a higher note pierced the tent.

The snake turned its head towards the man in the clown mask. Almost too slowly, the animal slid across the floor towards his legs, and the hairs on the end of Bruce's neck stood on end.

How the man just stood there as the creature approached was incredible.

The Python reached the bottom of the clown's trousers, but didn't stop there, it slowly slithered up his leg, circling the limb and crinkling the fabric as it climbed. The man just stared into the crowd as the snake crawled up to his shoulders and curled around his throat, but the nervous titters increased in volume.

The music picked up in pace, and the snake lifted its head to look the clown in the eyes, before opening its mouth to display its long fangs. The music stopped suddenly, and the entire tent held its breath. The masked man just stared back into its eyes, and opened his own mouth wide, displaying white teeth. The snake hissed, before turning away from the man, and staring towards the other basket. The beautiful woman brought the flute to her lips once more, and a different song began to drift through the air of the big top.

The other, slightly smaller basket on the floor had been completely forgotten by everyone in the tent, but the second it jolted all eyes were fixed on the wicker. The lid lifted more quickly than on the other basket, and a much smaller, pitch black snake slid down its side before pooling on the floor. The crowd watched as the foot-long viper also fixed its gaze on green eyes, and began a quick approach towards the clown. His mouth was still wide open, the back of his throat visible to Bruce as a spotlight fixed on his prone form. The small black snake scaled his body quickly, sliding across the tight coils around the masked man's throat and up the body of the Python.

The smaller snake coiled itself around the other's head, extending its body into the air between itself and the masked man. There was a hush through the crowd, then the black viper closed the distance between the man's plush lips and itself in seconds. Its head brushed his open lips almost obscenely, before sliding into his mouth. The crowd was silent.

The clown closed his mouth, and the other snake uncoiled itself from around his neck and dropped to the floor. It slid towards its basket, but all eyes were still on the masked man and his rippling cheeks. The music once again stopped, and the man smirked, before opening his mouth.

The black head of the viper peered out, it's tongue tasting the air. The clown raised a hand to his lips, and the whole crowd collectively let out a tense breath as the snake slid from the pink cavity to the man's palm. He walked towards the second basket, and carefully placed the viper back into its confines. As soon as the lid was on, and the man was back upright the crowd burst into applause.

Bruce was clapping so hard pins and needles shot through his palms, he was absolutely in awe. Most people were clapping for the performance, but Bruce was clapping for a different reason. He wanted to be that brave.

He wanted to be that calm and composed staring down danger.

He needed to know that man.

"Alfred, I'll be right back", Bruce muttered, eyes never leaving the masked clown, even as the audience hollered and clapped. Alfred grabbed his arm, "Where are you going?", he whispered. Bruce glanced at his carer, "I need to get some fresh air, I'll be back before the end of the show", Alfred grimaced but let go of his sleeve. "Don't get in too much trouble".

Bruce ran through the bright night towards the back of the big top. He'd left just as the performers were exiting the stage, and hoped that if he got there fast enough, he'd be able to catch the clown before he disappeared into the clutch of caravans. The light of the back exit was illuminating the grass not ten meters from Bruce when he was stopped.

"Where do you think you're going?", a sharp nasally voice cut out from the shadows, and Bruce stopped in his tracks. Another, lower voice spoke up,

"Little posh boys shouldn't wander around at night, you never know who's out there", it laughed. Two men in overalls stepped out from the shadows; a tall, skinny, slightly balding man in his early thirties, and a shorter, fatter man with a flattened nose. The tall one laughed nasally, "That watch looks expensive, almost expensive enough to buy your way out of here, maybe?", he mused nastily. Bruce swallowed and stepped back.

"Don't you two, ah, shit heads, have some grunt work to do?", a low, dangerous rumbling emitted from the dark shadow behind the two thugs. He was outlined in light from the back exit of the tent, but that didn't seem to stop the circus hands from recognising him. Both men shrunk away from the man like shadows from the sun, "Shit, it's the freak, let's get out of here", Skinny growled, then turned and slinked away. The fat man waddled after him with haste, glancing back at the shadowed man every now and then fearfully.

"Thank you", Bruce squinted up at the man, trying to make out a face. The man turned his head slightly, the light revealing a hooded green eye staring down at the boy with curiosity. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to run off in the dark?", the clown slowly surveyed the area, before flicking his eyes back on the younger boy, Bruce swallowed, "I don't have one". The clown smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I wish I didn't".

He leaned against a circus barrel, all the lean lines of his body stretching out like a cat, "So, what brings a privileged young man like you to a place like this?".

Bruce's throat closed up, this had been a bad idea. What had he been thinking. "Uh, I was looking for you, actually", he coughed, and the clown sucked his lower lip in and out of his mouth thoughtfully, "And why would you want to do that?", he smiled nastily, "What makes you think I'm any better than them?".

Bruce shook his head, "You're not like them, I can tell", the clown pushed his lower lip out, "Sure", he grinned, "So what can someone like me, do for someone like you?". Bruce set his jaw and stared up at the masked man's eyes, "I want you to teach me to be unafraid, like you were with the snakes", he ground out.

The masked man just blinked at him for a moment, before cracking up, "Y-you want me to what? Teach you to be unafraid?", he started to laugh again.

Bruce stood there, face red, "I want to be able to look after myself!". The clown suddenly stopped laughing, his voice was lower, more serious, "And how can I help you become, ah, fearless?". Bruce's eyes darted up and back to the floor before speaking, "You, you were completely unafraid", he muttered, "Even with that snake in your mouth, and again when you chased off those two. How do you do that?".

The clown was quiet for a moment, "Fearlessness?", he said huskily, "It's something that comes with practice". The man fluidly pushed himself off the barrel and crouched down to look straight into Bruce's pupils, inches between them, "Or you become the one that's feared".

The younger boy peered curiously into the dark pools, "I'm not afraid of you", he stated.

The masked man huffed a laugh and fell backwards into his backside, "Interesting. So, you want me to teach you how to be scary? It's not something that everyone can learn", he mused, eyeing his nails expectantly. Bruce swallowed the bait, "I'm not everybody", he said firmly, before a rush of words poured out of his mouth, "If you teach me, I'll learn! I'll pay you!", he got ahold of his babbling, feeling embarrassed, "Uh, if you want".

"I don't want your money", the man crossed his legs, and held a finger out in front of himself teasingly, "I will teach you though, because you're interesting, but you, will owe me, a favour", he said lasciviously. Bruce carefully sat down and crossed his legs, "Deal", he stuck his hand out. The man eyed the offered contract, before slowly extending a slim hand. Before it touched Bruce's, he pulled it back, and with a smirk, spat a glob of spit into his palm, then slapped it into the younger boy's grip, "Deal".

In one smooth motion, the clown rose to his feet and pulled Bruce to his from their clasped hands. "The name's Jerome, by the way, Jerome Valeska", Jerome grinned widely, dropping Brice's hand and pulling off his mask. Bruce glanced up to take in a shock of red hair atop a carefully chiselled face, the green eyes hooded beneath heavy eyebrows, and a slender nose leading down to a pair of perfectly full, red lips, "Bruce Wayne", he replied slowly.

"Nice to meet you, Brucie", Jerome pulled the name from his lips like silk, "I'm expecting you in class bright and early tomorrow morning, 9 am on the dot, on top of the hill five minutes west of here".

Jerome smirked, before leaning down so his face was inches from the younger boy's, "Sleep well, Master Bruce", and he was gone.

Bruce stood there for a moment, before the roar of the crowd snapped him from his daze, and he thought of Alfred.

"That was a long breath of fresh air, Master Bruce. I hope it helped", Alfred murmured when Bruce reclaimed his seat. "I feel much better, thank you Alfred", Bruce replied, eyes fixed on a shock of red hair that was lounging in the shadows at the back of the stage, clear green eyes watching only him.

•

Bruce didn't sleep much that night.

He lay awake staring at the curving decorations along his ceiling, thinking about Jerome. He was interesting, Bruce hadn't met anyone like that before.

It wasn't scary, but it was raw, almost dangerous, and Bruce was fascinated. By the time the first rays of sunlight stretched across the room, Bruce was already up and dressed.

Running on a few hours of sleep, the young Wayne shovelled cereal into his mouth and downed his juice in five minutes. "If you are trying to experience the effects of indigestion first hand, Master Bruce, you are going about it correctly", Alfred said dryly, watching the boy under his charge, "Do we have plans today?". Bruce shrugged, "Just going for a walk", Alfred nodded seriously, "Down by the circus I take it?", his tone became harder, "Be careful, Master Bruce. Not everyone there is as delightful off stage as they are on it".

The boy paused in his mission to pull his coat on as quickly as possible, "I know Alfred, thank you. I should be back for supper". Before Alfred could get another word in, the kitchen door was swinging shut, the quick patter of running feet getting softer as Bruce left. "That must be some damn special girl", Alfred muttered to himself in amusement, shaking his head.

Bruce was early. Two hours early, in fact. He tapped his feet impatiently against the tree stump he was sitting on as he stared impatiently at his watch. The shadows grew longer as the hours passed, and at ten, he was starting to worry that his teacher wasn't going to make an appearance.

After another fifteen minutes, Bruce angrily scrambled to his feet, glaring at the stump he'd been sitting on before giving it a vicious kick.

"Whoa! What did that stump ever do to you?", a familiar, amused voice called from behind him. The young Wayne spun on his heel, before pointing his finger accusingly towards the approaching man, "You're late", he growled, "You said 9 am sharp".

Jerome shrugged, "Did I? I thought I said 10?", his lips trembled slightly as they fought a smirk, and Bruce's eyes narrowed, "You didn't". Jerome smiled widely, "You're right, I lied. Lesson one, don't always tell the truth". Bruce frowned, "That's not going to make me fearless", Jerome shrugged, and sat down on the stump, crossing one leg over the other. "I decided if I was going to teach you how to be fearless, I'd better teach you what to do with it". Bruce's eyebrows scrunched together, the morals grating on his conscience, "Okay", he muttered uneasily.

"Okay! Lesson 2, fake it", Jerome enunciated, hands clasped over his knee. Bruce slumped, "I don't want to fake being unafraid, I want to _be_ unafraid". Jerome shrugged again, "Brucie, I'm afraid for people like you, faking it's the closest you'll get for a while yet", Bruce bristled, but Jerome continued, "Don't get your knickers in a twist, it's just as effective. People fear those who don't fear, and if they think you're unafraid, you might as well be". Still annoyed, Bruce breathed deeply to try and calm himself down. Jerome grinned, "I want to get a grasp of your current ability, so we're gonna have a little pre-test. I'm a big, scary man who's twice your size, and you think I'm going to attack you, go!".

Bruce dropped into a fighting crouch like Alfred had taught him, hands raised in front of his body. Jerome looked horrified, "What are you doing! I said he was twice your size!", he dragged a hand over his face, before speaking once more, "You have two options, run", a cloud passed over his face, "Or make him run".

Bruce looked at him blankly, and Jerome have him a black look before huffing and pulling himself to his feet. "Fine. Role reversal. You're the big, threatening man, and I'm you".

Jerome looked down at the ground, pushing his hands into his pockets, and taking a few breaths.

It wasn't Jerome that looked up again.

Two narrow, black pools of darkness stared out from within shaded, lime eyes, and the pair of full lips beneath them slowly curled upwards like flayed skin, impossibly wide. _**Danger**_ , Bruce registered, all his senses screaming at him to run. The hands shoved deep into his pockets were both unknown weapons, and Bruce stumbled back.

"Ta dah!", before Bruce could run, Jerome was back, fake smile spread wide over his lips, "That's how to scare someone". Something glinted sadly from behind Jerome's eyes, something dangerous, but it was gone in a moment. "That wasn't you", Bruce whispered, staring at the older boy, Jerome shrugged, not looking at Bruce, "Who cares, what matters is that you have a badass teacher for all this. Okay, take two!".

By the time evening rolled around, Bruce was tired, hungry and ready to punch Jerome, hard. "Okay enough!", Bruce yelled, dragging himself out of the dirt. After the intimidation techniques, Jerome had moved onto fighting, and he fought dirty. From the first minute, Bruce had been getting used to being knocked on his ass, and had a scattering of bruises blooming down his ribs.

Jerome crouched down, "What? Already?", he smirked, "Fine, fine. We'll take a break". Bruce was convinced at least part of the other boy enjoyed knocking him on his ass repeatedly.

Bruce dragged himself across the floor to lean against the stump, "I'm exhausted", he sighed heavily, examining a particularly nasty scrape down the back of his hand. Jerome peered over curiously, "Ouch, did little old me do that?", Bruce flexed his fingers, "Yes, when I hit the ground the fourth time, or was it the fifth?".

Jerome pulled an arm across his forehead, sweat absorbing into the sleeve of his shirt, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a white and red polka dot handkerchief alongside a strong whiff of peppermint. Bruce blinked at it in disbelief, "You carry a handkerchief?", Jerome raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, luckily for you". Jerome reached across Bruce to grab his hand, "Hold still", and began to wind the handkerchief around the cut. Bruce winced as the polka dots around the cut disappeared under the crimson spread of his blood, "There", Jerome sat back with a satisfied sigh, "Aren't you lucky I had that".

Bruce looked down to examine the gift, "The stitches are wonky", he frowned, before realisation dawned on his face, "you made this?". Jerome shrugged, looking offended, "Yeah, but the stitches are wonky", he muttered bitchily.

Bruce laughed, "I wasn't trying to offend you, it's really good, do you make lots?", Jerome shuffled down in the dirt so he was lying on his back looking up, "Nope, I've made two". Bruce's head whipped down to the now blood-stained handkerchief, "I'm so sorry, I've ruined it", Jerome shook his head, "Nope, you made it better".

Bruce tilted his head curiously to look down at the man. He couldn't ever wrap his head around what Jerome was going to say or do next, he was unpredictable, an anomaly. "Thank you", Brice said eventually, his voice breaking the evening silence.

"You're welcome", Jerome replied, staring off into the distance. They were facing the wrong way to watch the sunset, but that didn't matter, they just watched the blackness slowly encompass the blue until it seemed there was nothing but night, then the stars appeared.

"I'd better go back", Bruce said eventually, his back cracking when he sat up after so long in that position. Jerome hummed, and Bruce continued, "Same time, same place tomorrow?", he suggested. Jerome turned his head, features mostly obscured by the dark, "Sure. Don't be afraid tonight, Bruce, you're as safe down there as you are up here".

Bruce chuckled, taking it lightly, "I'll be fine, I'm not scared", he turned and walked down the hill, the night clinging to his back as he walked towards the bright city lights. Jerome watched from the darkness, and when Bruce glanced back before disappearing into the lights, he knew the younger boy couldn't find him in the blackness.

•

Bruce was at the stump at 8.30 the next day, but he settled down against the wood, fully expecting Jerome to be late again.

"Now that's commitment", Bruce whirled around, searching for the source of the older boy's voice, "Early two days in a row?".

"Where are you?", Bruce yelled, spinning. Just as he was about to go off on a search, an apple core hit the top of his head, "You hoo!", Bruce glared upwards, spying Jerome balancing on one of the branches, swinging his legs. Bruce just glowered as Jerome slid down, and when he got to the bottom, Jerome wiped his hands on his trousers before fixing his pupil a stern look, "But you were earlier yesterday".

"You can't accuse me of that, you were late yesterday!", Bruce accused, finger pointing viciously. Jerome placed a hand on his chest, as if he was offended, "No I wasn't", he rolled his eyes, "You just didn't notice me".

Bruce bristled, "Okay! Fine! Let's just get on with the teaching". Jerome raised his eyebrows before wandering off towards the stump. When he was comfortable, one long leg crossed over the other, he began to talk. "So, yesterday was the basics. We'll do that every day, until you don't even have to concentrate anymore, and it becomes instinctual", he waggled his brows, "However, for me to actually make you fearless, I have to know what your greatest fear is".

Jerome sat back slightly, face a mockery of self-sacrifice, "So lay it on me, what are you most afraid of? Ghosts? Pedophiles? Spiders?", he paused dramatically, "Evil clowns?". Bruce crossed his arms, "None of those, but the evil clowns comes close". Jerome glanced off to the side and back to Bruce blankly, "So..?", Bruce shuffled, before mumbling something indistinct.

"What was that?", Jerome gestured wildly, "Did you even say words?". Bruce scowled, "I said, I don't like bats", Jerome's eyebrows pulled together, "That's a pretty girly thing to be afraid of, what, you think they're gonna get caught in your hair?". Bruce's cheeks reddened, "Mind your own business", he growled, and Jerome raised his brows, "Jeez, okay, go change your tampon Brucina".

Gritting his teeth, Bruce ignored the jibe, "So now you know what I'm afraid of, what can you do about it?". Jerome hummed, watching the clouds, "I was just curious as to what got you into such a tizz, well, and it could help me figure out how to fix whatever's made you so obsessed with 'curing your fear'". Bruce scuffed his shoes into the dirt, "Great, okay let's start", he grumbled. Jerome smirked and got to his feet, "Revision time, show me your best Lesson Two".

•

After that, the two would meet two to three times a week, same place, same time, and practice. Eventually, Brice began to improve, Jerome even claimed his intimidation techniques were sparking off warnings in his brain (which he also claimed was almost impossible). The sparring, however, still left much to be desired. Jerome's superior size, strength and speed always ended up with him winning only half a minute into each fight. Bruce was convinced that he was lasting a little longer, though, each session he attended.

Every meeting, Bruce would arrive early, bringing an apple, a book or a newspaper, and wait for Jerome's arrival. It had been a couple of weeks, and Bruce was starting to feel closer to achieving his goal. He felt faster, stronger and more capable, and had started to read the national newspaper.

He liked the stories about lawyers going against the tide and putting away big criminals, or random strangers putting their lives on the line to help others, but most of all, he'd developed an unspoken love for the recently emerging vigilantes around the globe. It felt like all the major cities were beginning to get cleaned up, one figure head leading a revolution on the streets. It reminded him of his father, and Jerome.

He wanted that for Gotham. He wanted to be able to protect people, like Jerome had protected him, like the lawyers were protecting people. He wanted to stop anyone else losing what he had.

Bruce could hardly wait for his friend to arrive. He wanted to show him the articles, especially the newest one about a rumoured, 'Doctor Occult'. Bruce wasn't convinced the man really was psychic, but he liked what he stood for.

"Whatcha readin'?", Jerome's voice resonated through his left shoulder. Bruce aangled the page slightly so the older boy could read the page, "'Trench-Coated Saviour: Doctor Occult saves little girl'". He snorted, "Doctor Occult? What sort of name is that?", Bruce flicked the top half of the newspaper down, and tucked it under his arm, feeling a bit dejected.

Jerome peered round to see Bruce's frown, "He sounds cool though, just needs a better name", he added. Bruce smiled slightly, "I want to do that, help people". Jerome sat down on the other side of the stump, his back against the younger boy's, "So, I'm like your mentor?", he grinned, "The truth comes out, you just wanted me to train you up to be the next-", he bent over to read the name he'd already forgotten, "-Doctor Occult. You should call me Master Valeska", Bruce elbowed him backwards.

Jerome chuckled softly, "It must be a good feeling, going around killing bad guys", Bruce squirmed, "I don't know. Doesn't that sort of make you as bad as them?", Jerome raised one eyebrow, "You can't be a superhero without killing the bad guys, you'd never win!".

Bruce rubbed his legs, "What about their family? What if they have kids?", Jerome shrugged, "Some people just deserve to die".

•

One day, after their session Bruce decided to walk a different route back to Wayne Manor, passing a toy shop he hadn't been in since the death of his parents. It was rather exclusive, selling only the best, handmade items, the highest quality available for Gotham's one percenters. The bouncer on the door looked uncomfortably down at Bruce's muddied clothes, before a glance to his face straightened out any doubts, "Welcome to Geoffrey Star's, Master Wayne", he said gruffly. Bruce nodded, walking past, and trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirming he got whenever anyone spoke differently to him because of his standing.

He browsed the shelves for a while, before something caught his eye. It was perfect, and Bruce had to have it. He pulled it off the shelf without glancing at the tag and walked to the checkout, "Master Bruce, it's nice to see you in here", the manager ushered the cashier away from the till so he could serve, "Our greatest condolences for your loss". The man lifted Bruce's chosen item and inspected it carefully, "Excellent choice, Master Wayne! Hand carved Agarwood, only five made in the entire world".

Bruce nodded, pulling out his wallet, "How much?", the manager smiled, "For you? £200, that is a significant discount on its worth, by the way, but only as a gift to one of our most valued and least seen customers". Bruce nodded uncomfortably, this was the other end of the spectrum, bootlicking instead of thick resentment.

He left the shop as quickly as possible after paying, trying to ignore the bouncer's stare boring holes into his spine.

Bruce tucked the present into the pocket of the hoodie he was to wear tomorrow, inside the handkerchief Jerome had given him nearly a month ago, and on impulse, grabbed an untouched old Christmas gift off his shelves and pushed it in as well.

•

Bruce stuck his hand into the pocket of his hoodie, watching the early morning forest, with his fingers playing absent mindedly with Jerome's gift. "What? No apple for your teacher?", Jerome called out from a way down the hill, strolling up with his hands in his jeans. Bruce smiled, "Not exactly", he pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket, "I do have something though", and passed it over. Jerome shot him a puzzled look, feeling over the hard shape wrapped inside.

"It's been a while since I've seen this", he paused, "It was a gift, you know", Bruce shrugged, "I wasn't sure, I got you something else just in case though". Jerome sat down, holding the handkerchief tightly, and sending Bruce another long look.

"You do realise you're meant to open it", Bruce laughed after a tense minute, and for the first time Bruce could have sworn he saw Jerome's cheeks pink slightly. "Just adding to the atmosphere", Jerome smirked quickly, his eyes got that tight look again, then he slowly pulled the corners of the handkerchief away from the Middle. Bruce was so excited he was almost on Jerome's lap as he leaned over to watch his friend's reaction.

Carefully coiled up inside the handkerchief were two things, a pack of cards and a carved wooden toy snake. The carving was detailed, far more so than the ones bought cheaply in kids toy stores, each notch down either side neatly fit into the pattern carved down its back, and the painting was ridiculously lifelike. The eyes were bottle green glass, carefully hooded underneath heavy brows, and a lipstick red velvet tongue permanently tasting the air protruded from its mouth.

Jerome said nothing as he carefully allowed the toy snake to slink around his palm and down his fingers, before with an equally delicate hand, he picked up the cards and opened them. Bruce was starting to worry, "Is it too childish? I'm sorry, don't worry, we can pretend it never happened-", he reached for the toys, but Jerome clutched them to his chest, "You can't take back gifts, it's rude", he said hurriedly, turning away from the younger boy slightly, "Or give them back for that matter!", he pulled the blood-free handkerchief from under his presents, and handed it back, the cards and snake still cradled in one arm, eyes suspicious as they eyed Bruce's hand, as if he thought the younger boy was going to make another grab for his new things.

Bruce sat back, trying to keep the satisfied smile from his face, and pocketing the now peppermint smelling handkerchief, "We could play cards, you know, tonight, after training perhaps?".

Jerome pulled off his slightly patchy jacket and chucked it on the stump, before placing the cards and snake on top of it, "Okay, we'll stop early. Don't that that means I'm going to go easy on you though".

Jerome's fighting was less vicious that day, he almost let Bruce get a few hits in before knocking him to his ass, and despite his sneaking suspicions that Jerome was being kind instead of Bruce showing instant improvements, he still finished their session feeling more proud of himself than he had the day before.

The older boy plopped himself down on the ground on one side of the stump, "So. Cards?", he smirked, waving the packet at Bruce. "Yeah, sure. What do you want to play?", Bruce said as he sat down opposite his friend.

They settled on cheat, mostly because Jerome liked the idea that it was about lying. It was fun, despite the fact that Jerome kept lying badly, and trying to use a Joker as a universal card. "Jerome, that's not even a proper card in this game!", Bruce laughed as Jerome tried to put it down on top of a three for the third time that game. Jerome glared, "Of course it's a proper card! It's the most important card in the deck!", Bruce picked up the offending card and placed it firmly back in Jerome's half of the stump, "It's not a card".

Jerome brandished the smirking Joker next to his face, "This card is the most advantaged position in the game", he said seriously, "You see, the Joker is allowed free access to the kings court, and who would suspect him of anything went wrong? He's just the clown, underestimated by everyone, but he is in the prime place to strike against the kingdom - if he so chooses", Jerome shrugged, then smirked, "If he's smart. There's a reason he's called the wildcard, you know". Bruce raised a brow, trying to look knowing, but a smile quivered at the edge of his lips. "Fine", he conceded, "You can use that card", and Jerome placed it down with a self-satisfied flourish.

It was after a few games of cheat, and relentless teasing from Bruce that he'd had to explain the simplest two person card game to his teacher, when it became clear Jerome had no idea what he was doing, despite his claims ("A game about lying? I practically created it!"), when Bruce had an idea.

"Jerome, you've been working with the snakes for how long?", Jerome whipped what he claimed were 5 aces down on top of two kings, "Oh, uh, since my mother decided to swap pole dancing for snake dancing, so about seven years ago?". Bruce ignored the blatant lie in the game in favour of his greater goals. The younger boy pretended to consider this for a moment, placing three twos down as he thought, "So you think it was the snakes perhaps, that made you less afraid?".

Jerome's eyes snapped up to meet Bruce's, "No", he growled, and placed three cards on top of the pile without declaring them. Bruce frowned at the cards, but let it go again, "How do you know?", he swindled, "It's worth a shot, right? You'll be there the whole time".

There was only two cards left in Jerome's hand, and four in Bruce's. The older boy sighed, "It's just not possible, okay? Leave it". Bruce pulled out a three and dropped in on the deck, "Not even just a look? Please?", Jerome sent Bruce a pained look, "Bruce-", "Please!". Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jerome groaned, then nodded sharply, "Fine! But only for five minutes. I'm going to count".

Almost running, Bruce stumbled down the side of the hill, Jerome dragging his feet further behind. "Are you sure you want to do this", Jerome yelled, hands in his jacket pockets curling around his new gifts (Jerome had made sure they hadn't left without him carefully ensuring each card wasn't crumpled and in the pack). Bruce just grinned back at him, before continuing his mad dash down towards the unlit circus. Jerome huffed and glared off at the horizon.

When they got to the right caravan, Bruce almost sped straight past, and the older boy had to call him back. Bruce walked up to the bars of the cage holding the large python. He crouched down a foot away, looking directly at the reptile, "What's she called?", he asked. Jerome quirked an eyebrow, "She?", Bruce shrugged, smiling, "Just a guess".

"Clipper. My dad was a sailor, and my mum was still in love with him when she named her", Jerome said calmly. Bruce didn't comment on his use of the past tense when talking about his dad, "Where's the little one?", he asked, still examining Clipper.

Jerome sighed, walking towards the door to the caravan, up the steps and inside. The door swung shut with a clack behind him.

Bruce eyed the handle curiously, well aware that considering how reluctant Jerome was being about even bringing Bruce here, this may be his only chance to see where his friend slept. Before he could change his mind, Bruce was up the steps and pushing open the thin door.

Wicker basket in hand, Jerome spun around when the door clacked shut behind Bruce, "What are you doing?", Jerome said quietly, eyeing the dirty plates in the sink and overflowing bin in the corner. Bruce didn't reply as he looked around the small interior. There was a shabby grey couch that clearly pulled out into a bed against one side, next to the dirty kitchenette. Where there wasn't colourful cloths hanging over the walls, the white skin of the caravan was peeling away to reveal rust.

It smelt like peppermint though, which was nice.

Jerome kicked one of the worn blankets on the floor behind the couch when Bruce's back was turned, "Okay", he muttered, "You got your look, let's go".

"One second", Bruce murmured, eyes catching a curtained off area at the back of the trailer, "What's that?", he pointed, but before Jerome could answer, he was already stepping towards it. This time, Jerome followed him, standing behind and saying nothing as Bruce pulled back the curtain. On the floor, a crumpled grey blanket was bundled up on top of a lumpy mattress, with another two blankets posing as a makeshift pillow.

Bruce turned to his friend, "Is this your bed?". Jerome shrugged, "Yeah, so?", he muttered, "I bet you haven't slept anywhere short of five stars your whole life", he said coldly, glaring at the purple silk hanging over a wall to his left. Bruce shot him an odd look, before sitting down on the lumpy mattress, fisting the grey blanket discarded on top of it. He leaned back against the wall and pulled his legs to his chest, looking up at the roof, "I like it, there's no big spaces for anything to hide".

Jerome looked at Bruce funnily for a second, before sitting down on the mattress next to him, snake forgotten on the side. They sat in silence for a while, side to side, thigh to thigh, before Jerome spoke, "Why did you buy me those things?". Bruce's eyebrows mashed as he smiled in confusion, "I saw them and thought you'd like them, plus, you got me a far cooler present".

Jerome stared at him strangely for a little while, something odd in the back of his eyes, but a clattering as the door of the caravan was pulled open startled him into motion. Before Bruce could react, Jerome was on his feet, pulling Bruce's stiff form up and behind him. "Mother", Jerome spat out, one hand firmly across Bruce's mouth, "You're back early".

Bruce could hear another person shuffling around the caravan, dropping a heavy bag on the floor with a thump before turning to face Jerome.

"I'm not. I'm on time", she sighed, and Jerome's back rumbled against Bruce's as he spoke, "You're usually late". Bruce realised that this person must be the beautiful woman who's played the flute in the performance two days ago. He heard more shuffling footsteps, before she stopped and paused, "Jerome, who's behind your back".

Jerome fell slack, defeated, "Just another circus hand mother, we came in here to get the spare baskets for your performance later-", "You know we don't bring anyone in here", she said quietly.

Bruce pulled Jerome's hand from his mouth, stepping round him. The aghast face of the pretty brunette from the show, who was in her mid thirties perhaps, looked him up and down, "Ma'am", Bruce blurted, taking a step towards her nervously, "It's my fault-", Jerome's mother ignored Bruce's ramblings, turning to the older boy, "Jerome, this is not a circus hand".

She clenched her fists, "We do not let people in here, Jerome", she snarled, glaring, " _Especially_ not outsiders". She started to advance on the two, but her attention was on the expressionless Jerome.

"You'd better leave", Jerome said seriously, eyes not leaving his mother. Bruce raised his eyes to the older boy's face, taking in the cold eyes that were so different from earlier. The brunette laughed, a high pitched maniacal laugh, "You think he can leave? What have you shown him! What does he know?", she finally turned her malicious eyes to Bruce, clawing her hands and advancing towards him.

Bruce faltered, stepping back from the dangerous woman, and Jerome stepped in from of him. "Mother, he knows nothing", his eyes hardened, "Don't even think about it", Jerome was cut off with a vicious slap across the face from the brunette, "Don't tell me what to do, you little shit", she began to reach for Bruce's collar.

Before Bruce knew what was happening, Jerome's mouth was pulled up in a grimace, and he'd given his mother a vicious shove away from them both. He turned to Bruce with white eyes, an odd resignation lurking behind his pupils, "Sorry to cut this short, You'd better run, see you around, maybe", Jerome's smirk didn't quite reach his eyes, but he wrenched his iris's back to his mother, before grabbing the flailing woman's hands and holding them in his fists as she writhed.

Bruce ran.

As he fled, he caught one last screech from Jerome's mother, "WAIT UNTIL OWEN GETS BACK JEROME, HE'LL BEAT YOU TO A _PULP!_ ", and the smash of glass breaking, before he raced back towards Gotham.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce lay awake all night.

His sheets felt too soft against his skin, his bed too smooth, and he couldn't stop thinking about Jerome.

There had been something strange in his friend's eyes eyes when their day was cut short, something not entirely sane as he held his mother away from Bruce. He tossed around the mattress, kicking his covers off in frustration. It just didn't fit in! Jerome was a hero!

Bruce turned to face the other way. Maybe it had just been the adrenaline that put that look in Jerome's eyes, or the anger. Jerome wasn't a bad person.

That slap had been hard. It'd left a harsh red mark across one side of Jerome's face, and Bruce felt a squirm of guilt low in his gut. He's been so insistent, even when Jerome clearly didn't want him inside. Obviously for good reason.

It had been his fault.

Bruce clenched his hands, he'd go back tomorrow, he decided. He'd apologise to Jerome and everything would be okay, and Jerome would go back to teaching him how to be tough.

•

Bruce waited by the stump all day, staring down at the circus lights. He did the same the next day, and the next. By noon on the fourth day, he'd had enough. Scrambling off the stump, eyes drawn close, Bruce began to march down the hill, his smart trousers and jacket tightening with the exaggerated movement.

Halfway down he stopped, looking down at his clothes. They were custom made, a Canali jacket and brown knee length shorts. He didn't look like he was meant to be wandering round a circus in the daytime, he looked like Bruce Wayne.

It had rained last night, and a few muddy puddles still patched the way down, broken up by a couple of areas with dry ground.

Bruce grimaced. Alfred was going to kill him.

He undid the tie first, Ralph Lauren, it had been a gift from the board at Wayne enterprises on his twelfth birthday, and it ended up garnishing the small gorse bush a few feet away. The jacket was next. Bruce glanced down at his shirt, before unbuttoning it. It was green tartan, again Ralph Lauren, but too formal done up, and the white t-shirt beneath it too clean. He leant down and scooped up a handful of the dry dirt from beneath a tree, and wiped it down his front.

That was more like it.

By the time Bruce was done, he looked far more street urchin than billionaire. His Ralph Lauren shirt was torn and muddy, the breast pocket hanging limply by a few stitches, and his brown shorts were ripped in three places, the button torn off, now being held up only by a belt. Bruce grinned, now for Lesson Two.

Nobody gave him any trouble as he walked through the circus, maybe because it looked like he hasn't washed in weeks, but that suited his needs perfectly. When he got to the small caravan, instead of knocking on the door, he glanced round, swallowed, and tiptoed up to one of the windows. He wasn't quite tall enough to see on flat feet, so balancing on his toes, Bruce squinted into the poorly lit interior. The caravan seemed empty, and Bruce was about to slink off to look elsewhere when the curtain around Jerome's bed rippled slightly.

Bruce's eyes widened, and he scrambled around the caravan to the door before pausing. His hand was inches away from the handle, but he was shaking. What if Jerome didn't want to see him? What if he was avoiding him? If that was the case, Bruce decided, he'd just leave; at least he'd know. Hardening his gaze, Bruce firmly gripped the handle and pulled the door open.

It was too hot, too stuffy inside the caravan. No windows were open and it smelt like peppermint and stale air. There was silence apart from laboured breathing and a quiet groan. "Jerome?", Bruce breathed, slowly padding towards the curtain. There was no answer. Bruce slowly pulled back the curtain, revealing the curled up figure facing the wall inside.

Bruce's eyes widened, mouth hanging open as he saw his friend. There were yellow bruises along his right cheekbone, and his lower lip was split. Part of the blanket was hard with dried blood.

Jerome was awake, he just wasn't looking anywhere but the wall, Bruce tried again, "Jerome, w-what happened?", he whispered. A cold smile lifted the corners of Jerome's mouth slightly, but he didn't look away from the plaster, "Mother and her lovers don't like me bringing people back here", his voice was too slow, gritty, and Bruce was really getting worried. "Jerome, I think we need to go to a hospital", he said, high pitched and afraid. The older boy laughed, but it too was broken with illness, "We can't afford hospital, Brucie. Jus' let me sleep".

Bruce yanked the cover off his friends still form, and blanched when he registered the unnatural angle his wrist was bent to, "Jerome, we're going to Gotham general", he growled, determination colouring his actions as he reached to pull Jerome up. As soon as he'd touched his friends side, Jerome winced, and Bruce recoiled as if he'd been burnt. Broken ribs too then.

"Jerome, please get up", Bruce whispered, eyes wide, "We need to go now". Jerome's eyes fluttered with exhaustion, "Where can I go?", he muttered. Bruce was shaking again, "Don't worry, just get up", Jerome was clearly delirious, his eyes were rolling in their sockets, but he obeyed. Bruce pulled one of Jerome's arms around his shoulder, and began a painfully slow limp towards the door.

The way out of the circus wasn't as easy. Whenever an older circus member caught sight of Jerome, instead of offering help, they just shook their heads. Bruce had to just grit his teeth and stumble past them, but the worst were the teenagers. Boys barely older than Bruce jeered as he pulled Jerome past, banging whatever they were sitting on and laughing.

"Served the freak right!", one yelled,

"Someone had to give him a good whacking". Bruce felt sick, others joined in, they were relentless, even as he got away from one group, another would start shouting insults,

"Fag! Hope he dies!",

"Just drop him kid! We'll finish the job!".

Just as Bruce thought he would get to the end of the circus strip without being stopped, three older boys walked into the middle of the path a few meters away.

"Where are you going with the freak, Rat?", one of them yelled, arms crossed over his chest,

"Tell me who did that, I wanna go kiss 'em", another called out. Jerome weakly turned his head towards Bruce's ear, "They won't let me leave", he whispered, lips brushing the shell and making the younger boy shiver.

Bruce glanced at his friend; he looked even worse in the light. There were black circles underneath each half-lidded eye, and a slightly yellow tinge to Jerome's too-pale, sweaty skin. Bruce's stomach hardened, he couldn't do anything like this. Bruce carefully sat Jerome down against a barrel, broken arm clutched to his chest. The younger boy tried to ignore the way his head lolled slightly before straightening. Jerome smiled as he was being propped up, "Get out of here quickly, when they finish with me they might come after you", he muttered, smile not leaving as Bruce got back up.

"Lesson two", Bruce murmured, walking towards the older boys with his fists clenched. He stared straight at the ringleader, eyes cold and face expressionless, "Let us past". The older boy blinked, before bursting into laughter, "What, you gonna make us?", he cackled. Bruce raised his eyebrows slightly, pupils cold as arctic water, "If I have to", he ground out. The boy who hadn't spoken took a step back, "Hey, Dan, let's just get out of here", he muttered, eyes on Bruce's, "He looks like _him_ ". The leader turned on his friend, "Fine, you get out of here, then. Pussy. We'll beat this squirt to a pulp, then start on the freak without you".

Bruce stared the cowardly one down, "See you guys later", he uttered before turning on his heel and stumbling away. Bruce fixed his eyes back on the leader, "Your friend's smart. Smarter than you", Bruce paused again, "Get out of here".

"You're a cocky little shit, aren't you? Disrespecting me. Now you've made me angry", the leader said calmly, "You couldn't leave now if you tried, rude brats like you need to be taught a lesson", he started to roll up his sleeves as he prowled towards Bruce.

Bruce stood straight and still, allowing the ringleader to advance. When he was a few feet from him, the older boy lunged, fist raised, and Bruce neatly sidestepped, grabbed a handful of the ringleader's hair, yanked it back and kneed him hard in the stomach. The older boy let out a wounded sound as the air whooshed out of his lungs, and he fell to the floor, gasping.

The other bully lunged then, trying to get a good punch in whilst Bruce wasn't concentrating, but Bruce stepped out the way and pushed, the momentum sending the boy straight into a pile of wooded boxes beside a stand.

Bruce wasn't paying attention, and to his horror, the boy on the floor grabbed his ankle and pulled. Before he knew it, Bruce was lying on the floor with the ringleader's hands closing around his throat. It was too tight. Every futile attempt to pull the hands from his windpipe just made the corners of his eyes fuzzier.

The older boy was smiling, Bruce registered slowly, as his efforts got weaker. Just as Bruce thought he was going to pass out, the hands were gone.

Blessed, crisp air flooded his lungs, and Bruce lay there for a moment, gasping, before he rolled over, gagging and hacking as he threw up. The fuzziness slowly receded, and as soon as Bruce thought he could sit up without emptying what was left of his breakfast, he saw Jerome. His friend was swaying unsteadily on his feet, and the piece of crimson wood from the boxes clenched in his unhurt hand dropped to the floor.

Bruce felt like he was watching from above as he slowly registered the still body of the ringleader on the floor, red starting to seep out of the gash in his head where he lay. Bruce looked back to Jerome as his friend's legs crumpled, and just managed to catch him against his chest before he hit the floor.

Jerome lay against Bruce, head on his left shoulder, breath puffing softly against Bruce's neck. His arms hung limp down Bruce's sides, and the younger boy clutched desperately onto the sleep shirt to keep Jerome upwards.

Jerome's eyelashes fluttered against his neck as he spoke, "Are you okay?". Bruce laughed, a high, unsteady laugh, "Me? You're the one who just knocked a guy out with a broken arm, broken ribs, a fever and what I think is a concussion!". Bruce felt Jerome smile, "I told you I was badass". Bruce laughed harder, and Jerome joined in. They leant against each other as their relief flooded out.

When Jerome felt well enough to grit his teeth and stumble along using Bruce's shoulder, they began the trek to the nearest pay phone. Bruce was still worried, and the fight had sucked out the last of Jerome's energy. The older boy's eyes were barely open, and his feet were less walking, and more dragging along the floor as Brice pulled him along.

By the time they reached the phone, both boys were exhausted. Jerome slumped down the wall next to the phone as Bruce rooted through his pockets for change. The dial tone for 911 was almost non existent, to Bruce's relief, and two minutes later, with the promise of an air ambulance as fast as possible for the Wayne Billionaire, Bruce slid down the wall to sit next to Jerome.

Jerome's split lip was bleeding again, and looking paler than ever as a bead of sweat dropped down his cheek, but at least he appeared to be mostly conscious. Jerome was staring at his feet when he spoke, "I can't afford this". Bruce chuckled, eyes fixed on an nearing black blob in the air, "That's not going to be an issue". The air around them began to thrum as an approaching helicopter neared.

Newspaper pages and trash blew around the street as the helicopter descended into the park, and as soon as its feet were on the ground, paramedics began to run towards the boys.

"Everything's going to be okay", Bruce whispered, and Jerome lay his head down on the younger boy's shoulder. His eyes fixed on an old newspaper article stuck around a bollard as he began to loose consciousness; there was a picture of two adults and a little boy on the front, he registered slowly, they looked happy. There was another photo, just beneath, of the same boy, but this time, he wasn't smiling. Owen's taunting words whilst he beat Jerome's head against the side of his caravan swam back into his head.

Jerome closed his eyes.

•

Bruce didn't mind hospitals. They were clean and white, and he liked the sharp smell of disinfectant.

He didn't, however, approve of the food.

When the nurse brought the still unconscious Jerome a hospital tray with his lunch, Bruce examined it to make sure it was safe for his friend's consumption. Although it may have been safe, it looked disgusting. He pulled out a brand new mobile, "Alfred? Yes, I'm fine, I need you to bring me something though", he glanced down at Jerome's sleeping form, "Two ham sandwiches with coke and crisps. Yes, two, thank you Alfred", when Bruce looked back up, Jerome was watching him.

Bruce smiled tightly, "Look who's back from the dead", Jerome blinked and lifted his throbbing head to look down at himself, then groaned, "I feel like it". Jerome's eyes widened as he caught sight of Bruce's neck, "I'm going to kill him", he breathed. Bruce glanced down, fingering the purple hand-shaped bruises along his windpipe, "It's fine, no permanent damage". Bruce pushed himself off the chair and walked down to the clipboard on the end of the bed, "You, however, had a mild concussion, two broken ribs, a shallow knife wound to your abdomen, mild pneumonia and a broken wrist", he fixed Jerome with a glare, "Who did this to you? That Owen guy?".

Jerome stiffened, but shrugged, "Fell down some stairs", he slurred, Bruce glowered, "and how did these stairs manage to stab you?", the older boy fixed him a look, "Drop it Bruce".

Sighing, Bruce retreated to his chair, "I will find out", he warned. Jerome's eyes hardened, "No you won't", he growled, his words still slightly jumbled. A tense silence fell between the two for a few minutes, before Bruce spoke again, "Those kids, at the fairgrounds, why wouldn't they let us leave? Why wouldn't anyone help you?". Jerome licked his lips, "What? Me? I'm Mr Popularity", his smirk was sardonic, Bruce just waited.

Jerome sighed, "At first, people didn't like me because of my mother, so I had to figure out how to look after myself. People also don't like a kid who can look after himself", he looked at the bedsheets, "So when that kid gets put on his arse, they feel like they've won".

Bruce nodded, before shuffling his feet, "Why'd they call you a fag?", he asked curiously.

Jerome stiffened, curling in like an angry cat, "You should stay out of other people's business", he spat, and Bruce recoiled in shock. A heavy silence fell on the room again, only broken when Bruce's phone rang.

"Master Bruce, I understand you clearly care for this person very much, but the two security guards you have posted on the door are refusing to allow me and your sandwiches past", Jerome glared at the white ceiling, unable to hear the conversation. Bruce got up from his chair again, before walking over to the door, "Alfred can come in, with the sandwiches", he stated calmly.

Jerome watched curiously as a middle-aged man shuffled into the room, a plastic bag in his hand. As soon as Alfred spotted Jerome, his eyebrows tightened slightly, and Jerome felt ill. Here came the, 'Who have you been spending time with, son?', speech.

Alfred nodded towards the bed occupant, "So you're who Master Bruce has been spending most his days with recently then?", Jerome shrugged, trying not to wince as it jolted his ribs, "Yeah, I'm Jerome". Alfred looked between the two boys for a moment, before beginning to unpack the bags, "I hope you like mayo on your ham, Jerome, Master Bruce doesn't eat them otherwise", he turned to Bruce, "They're from that bakery you like down on fourth street".

Jerome was watching Bruce funnily, and he didn't like it, it was the look he got whenever he walked into the public school. The rich boy look. Unable to stand it any longer, Bruce jumped to his feet, "Alfred, can you keep an eye on Jerome for a few moments? I need the toilet". He didn't even wait for a reply before he was out the door.

Passing Jerome a sandwich, Alfred sat down, "Someone sure gave you a beating, Jerome", he said casually. Jerome was still looking at the door Bruce had left from, "Stairs", he muttered. Alfred nodded, "Yes, stairs. It's common to see six foot four stairs with a ring on the fourth finger of their left hand running around beating people up these days". Jerome whipped around, dropping the sandwich into the covers, eyes wide, and Alfred continued, "Don't worry, Master Bruce hasn't noticed the slight difference in the colouring of the bruises on your face yet".

"Don't tell him", Jerome said as he stared at the door. Alfred watched the young adult quietly for a while, "I won't, but he cares about you, and he isn't just going to give up, you know. Your just prolonging the inevitable". Jerome sighed, "That's the idea".

Bruce opened the door, walking back into the room, "I saw the doctor", he said to the floor, "He says you can leave in a day as long as your head's okay, and you have to take a prescription for your concussion with you, he says it's crucial. You've been unconscious for three days". Jerome watched him sadly, before nodding, "Thanks, I'll take it from here, I'm sure the circus will pay".

Alfred cut in, "I'm afraid that's already been taken care of, Master Bruce sorted it out when you arrived", Bruce nodded, still not meeting Jerome's eyes, "I'll see you around then", Jerome muttered, staring at the same place on the floor as Bruce. He nodded, and walked out the door, Alfred sent Jerome a smile, before leaving.

He lay there in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling fan. A pile on the side table caught his eye, there was a baguette, packet of crisps and coke sitting there, the packet advertising some bakery uptown. Jerome lashed out, sending the food flying, before he rolled over, trying to pretend the way his eyes prickled was because of the pain in his ribs.

•

After dismissing the security guards, the young billionaire slunk into the passenger seat of the Rolls Royce. Bruce was silent the whole way back, staring straight through the windscreen. Clearing his throat, Alfred glanced at his charge, "Master Bruce, not to sound rude, but our exit back there was a bit bloody cruel", he flicked the indicator, turning the car towards Wayne Manor.

Bruce just stared out the window, trying to forget that look on Jerome's face.

•

It was 3.20 when a nurse came into Jerome's room to change his IV.

Whilst she was writing something on the clipboard at the end of his bed, Jerome spoke, "Hey, do you know who Bruce Wayne is?". She blushed, glancing round the room,

"Is that a trick question? He payed for your treatments", Jerome held his hand out, "No, I mean is he well known round here?". She laughed, "Maybe that concussion is more serious than we thought, you're not from round here, are you? Bruce Wayne is the owner of Wayne Corporations, the biggest company in the whole of Gotham", she said this like Jerome should know, as if he kept tracks on the wealthy elite, "He owns half this hospital, amongst many other things", Jerome stared at his blanket, "So his dad is rich?". The nurse gave him a pitying look, "He doesn't have any parents. They died in a mugging gone wrong earlier this year, it was huge, coverage was shown all over the world. And if by rich, you mean billionaire? Yes, he's rich". Jerome turned over, eyes tight with resignation.

The doctor came in at about seven, he picked up Jerome's clipboard and examined it, "Yes, you're the one who had a serious concussion, right?", Jerome frowned, "Serious? The nurse earlier said it wasn't that bad". The doctor stopped turning the pages of the clipboard, "Nurse earlier?", he said, "The one who brought you lunch?". Jerome frowned, "No, the one who came to change my IV, we talked".

The doctor looked at him for a moment, before walking out the room with a stern, "Wait here".

Jerome'd always had a little problem with authority. He flexed his legs, and examined the tubes going into the veins of his arms. Jerome ripped them off in one fluid motion, wincing as one tore slightly on exit. Bruce said four days, that didn't give him much time at all. Swinging his feet off the bed, he noticed a wrapped sandwich squished between his covers. Jerome glanced down the hall, there was nobody there, but an odd, flapping noise echoed down the walls. Jerome winced and held his head, it was too loud.

He stumbled down the hall and out the door, only registering that he was just wearing a hospital robe when his feet touched grass. That was fast, Jerome thought to himself idly; he was already back at the circus. Whatever they had given him at the hospital was wearing off. Everything was spinning slightly, taunting him, "Stop it", he growled softly, holding his hands out for balance.

His legs weren't obeying him properly, it was like he was wading through mud. A black shape sped in front of him, but it didn't run, it sort of shot, like a bullet. Jerome whirled, trying to find it again, but it had disappeared.

"Fucking bird, it's fucking night time, 'should be ASLEEP!", he yelled. The flapping noise that had followed him from the hospital now nearly unbearable. His relief when he reached their cold, mouldy caravan was ignored in favour of navigating the huge steps, when had these steps gotten so big?

The caravan was empty. Jerome laughed, a high pitched, unstable laugh, his mother was probably off whoring herself out to whichever of the two family members she fancied on the particular night.

He collapsed onto his bed, vision swimming, pulling a pillow over his head to try and cut out the infernal flapping. It wasn't working. Jerome flipped over, angrily searching the caravan for whatever it was.

Bats.

There were bats everywhere.

His vision was going dark, there were so many bats. Jerome fell backwards the bats pressing in on him, he couldn't see, and all he could hear was the endless flapping. Finally, the darkness swallowed him, and it was quiet.

•

Despite himself, Bruce went back to the hill the next night. It was a battle between whatever mixture of resentment and pity had lurked in Jerome's eyes when he said goodbye a day ago, and his desire to see his friend, but eventually, his desires won out. It was late, and no one was there.

The circus lights were just starting to turn on, and the whole park stopped being just an area of green amidst the towering skyscrapers, it became a different place all together. The moonlight gave the trees a silvery sheen, their golding leaves bleached and pearlescent.

Bruce couldn't see Jerome's caravan from here, it was all lost in the glaze of honey light from the circus that didn't quite reach him. People were milling around the stalls, and for a moment Bruce considered walking down and into the fray, searching out the shabby caravan and walking in to apologise for ever pushing his way into Jerome's home. For getting him hurt so badly he had lost almost a week to unconsciousness. Bruce thought about what he would do in Jerome's position, before standing up, and walking home.

•

Alfred watched with narrowed eyes as his young master stirred his uneaten breakfast cereal forlornly.

He'd been like this for the last two days, ever since they'd left the hospital. Bruce was moping around the house, refusing to even go out and see Selina, and Alfred'd had enough. "Master Bruce, excuse me saying this, but don't you think you should get off your bloody arse and go see the young man if you're so upset over how you left things", he placed a cup of juice in front of the untouched cereal.

Bruce raised his eyes slowly, before dropping them again, "He doesn't want to see me, Alfred", Alfred hummed, "And you know this without speaking to him? Pray tell, is this boy teaching you to be psychic as well as to fight?". Bruce dropped his spoon on the side of his bowl with a soft clink, "He doesn't want to see the person that did that to him Alfred. All I've done is take up his time, get him hurt and in trouble with his family".

Pulling a chair round to the opposite side of the kitchen counter, Alfred spoke, "Are you sure? The way I see it, you took him away from the person that did that to him, protected him and offered friendship", Bruce glanced up at him, "Take it from me, that's not nothing". Alfred fixed Bruce a serious look, "Not going to see him is cowardly. What if he's been trying to see you this whole time? Does he even know where you live?".

Bruce's eyes widened, and he frantically slid off his chair, "Alfred, get the the Rolls, I'm going to need to be taken to Gotham carnival in five minutes!", he yelled as he ran to his room. Alfred shook his head, picking up the abandoned cereal and placing it in the sink, he'd have time for that later, Master Bruce had more pressing issues to attend to.

The whole way there, Bruce was straining against his seatbelt, leaning forward to look round every corner, biting the inside of his cheek. Alfred sped up a bit, rounding the corner a block away from the park almost too quickly. Speeding tickets weren't going to be a problem.

As soon as the Rolls Royce pulled up, Bruce was out the car and running.

Alfred cursed, " _Bruce_!", but he was gone. The butler ran into the trees after him.

Bruce was sprinting through the trees towards the Circus, afraid and excited about what Jerome would say. He would laugh, make up some rude, funny statement and ask where Bruce had been this whole time. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

The Wayne billionaire broke through the trees into the clearing, skidding to a sudden halt. He whirled around, confusion written across his features, "No-", he choked, scrambling back into a run. Up the hill he went, stumbling and tripping as he raced, pulling himself towards their spot as quickly as he could.

Alfred broke into the clearing, holding his legs as he breathed heavily. Sadness clouded his features as his eyes travelled across the empty grass. He glanced up, watching the small figure of Bruce tripping as he ran up the hill. He started to walk up after him, empathy drawing his mouth small.

Bruce clawed himself up to the stump, "No", he scaled the dead wood; nothing. He fell to his knees ripping up grass and scrabbling through the dirt and stones, "There's got to be something, he couldn't have just _left_!".

When Alfred reached the pinnacle of the hill, he found Bruce curled up in a ball on the floor next to the stump. He crouched down next to him, resting a hand on his head, "Master Bruce", he whispered, "I'm so sorry, they've moved on".

Suddenly, Alfred's arms were full of a sobbing Bruce Wayne, "Why? Alfred, Why didn't he tell me?", Alfred sat down on the dirt, thinking back to their conversation in the hospital.

"Maybe he always knew there was going to be a time limit, and thought you did too", Bruce's sobs rocked his small form, "But he didn't even say goodbye". Alfred closed his eyes, burying his face into Bruce's hair as the boy moaned.

"He didn't even say goodbye".


End file.
